Theodora: Empress of Byzantium (Mark Magowan Books) (44 page)

As in any absolute autocracy, ideal cities were built; one such
example was Justiniana Prima—now Caricin Grad, the “imperial city” near Justinian’s native birthplace of Tauresium in the district of Naissus (now Nis, Serbia). Originally planned to replace the ancient Sirmium (now Sremska Mitrovica, Serbia) as an Illyrian military and administrative stronghold, Justiniana Prima was established to celebrate the emperor, as were the archaic cities of Asia. A profusion of churches rose amid monumental structures, and a great statue of the local hero, Justinian, blessed and protected the city. (This ambitious place can be compared to the quintessential ideal city of the Italian Renaissance, Pienza, founded by Pope Pius II in Tuscany in 1462. Paradoxically, tiny Pienza has survived intact for five centuries, while Justiniana Prima declined after just a few decades, suffering from epidemics, drought, earthquakes, and, worst of all, Slavic invasions from the Danube. It was part of a progressive decline in urban life in the realm that had once been the “empire of the thousand cities.”)

43. View of the 5th/6th-century fortifications of the city of Zenobia on the Euphrates.

The masterpieces of military fortifications and structures in the East—Dara at the Persian border; Zenobia along the Euphrates [
fig. 43
]; the former caravan capital, Palmyra; and Resafa-Sergiopolis, a strategic crossroads in north-central Syria—combined defensive and religious functions, welcoming pilgrims who worshipped thaumaturgic
cults. Resafa-Sergiopolis was dedicated to Sergius, the martyr-soldier and the favorite saint of the Syrians. Empress Theodora honored its beloved church by donating a splendid cross of precious stones.

In Italy, Ravenna was the Byzantine pearl. When it was conquered for Constantinople in 540 by the cunning Belisarius, it had already been thriving for over a century. From 402, it had been the seat of the Western empire. Later it became the Ostrogothic capital: King Theodoric had changed the town plan by constructing numerous secular and religious buildings, and had reclaimed the port of Classe, beautifully portrayed in the mosaics of the church of Sant’Apollinare Nuovo [
fig. 44
].

44. Mosaic depicting the port of Classe, beginning of the 6th century, church of Sant’Apollinare Nuovo, Ravenna.

Justinian and Theodora never reached Ravenna; they never set foot anywhere in Italy, the place that was so pregnant with meaning for them—for the emperor in particular. But they were careful to project their power there: they left their mark on the city by restructuring it. Political and economic buildings were clustered in the port area, dominated by the church of Sant’Apollinare in Classe, and several monuments were built in the city center, along with the usual large number of churches.

The most imposing of these was the basilica of San Vitale, which had been begun under Ostrogothic rule. Financed by Julianus Argentarius, a banker, construction of the basilica was completed only under Bishop Maximianus (bishop from 546 to 556). In the extraordinary mosaics of the presbytery, the gaunt-faced bishop is the only person identified by an inscription, as if to underline his importance [
fig. 2
]. The figure of Justinian at his side, and that of Theodora on the opposite wall, are among the greatest visual epiphanies in the entire Mediterranean, but we should not forget that the mosaic had probably not yet been commissioned on Easter Day of 542, the fifteenth anniversary of the imperial couple’s coronation. At the time, work was being done only on the bright, spacious brick and marble structure.

But another important artistic work had been completed by then. The mosaic floor of a church in North Africa, west of Cyrene, depicted the human experience as a symbolic navigation from the sea of life to the haven that is the Church, and it has always delighted art historians, partly on account of its “most daring” use of pagan elements to express Christian concepts. This mosaic is even more meaningful when we consider that it was the pride of the ancient city of Olbia, which had just been renovated and renamed for Theodora (539–40): it was another Theodorias, right near Pentapolis, the place that had posed the gravest threat to young Theodora.
²⁵

OLONNADED STREETS
and monumental squares dotted with shops and churches, all safeguarded by majestic imperial statues: these were the grand urban spaces created by the imperial couple for their subjects as generous tokens of their benevolence. These cities, and the long inscriptions carved in robust characters on marble slabs, testified to their care for the “Romans” of Africa and Illyria, of Syria and Egypt, and of Italy. Of course, the subjects were always paying taxes, which went for more pomp, more buildings, and more wars of “salvation and glory.” This was the well-ordered country that Justinian and Theodora, protagonists of the last great passionate love story of antiquity, dreamed up for their people.

In their vision of the empire, everything good descended from the imperial throne to the new society’s basic building block—the Christian family—through the mediation of the Church. Vitality was drained out of all previous forms of association, such as the Blue and Green factions in their world of shows, theaters, and circuses that had played such a central role in the meeting of the two rulers and had strengthened their power on the throne.

The author Agathias Scholasticus produced epigrams that spoke of small kisses stolen or yearned for, but no illicit acts before or outside of marriage; his poetry reflected the imperial couple’s predilection for what we might call “the family in the shadow of power.”
¹
Soon, no
poet-functionary cited in the
Greek Anthology
would dream of new flirtations with enchanting singers and dancers, since there was no room these days for a young woman like Theodora to have a career: the laws that allowed her Christian repentance and rehabilitation had eliminated the very reasons she might have to repent.

The former actress on the throne had certainly not forgotten her femininity: her looks were apparently the topic of two poems in the
Greek Anthology
(XVI 77 and 78) by Paul the Silentiary. In one of them, Paul respectfully celebrates the “brilliance” and “glow” of a Theodorias of the “supreme head”: this is probably Theodora, with her name adapted to the needs of metric verse. Now over forty years old, she was still blinding like “the sun’s brilliance,” and she still seduced with her “extremely pale complexion.” He laments the fact that her hair was covered by a bonnet, but bonnets were a necessary ornament for the elite women of the time. What is unexpected, though, is the reference to her “golden curls.” “Curls” could be a poetic term for “hair,” but the “golden” color is surprising: the most scholarly Germanic encyclopedia of the time describes Theodora as a “brunette.”
²
If she was indeed a blonde at that time, then she had dyed her hair or was wearing a fanciful “Western-style” wig, like the one that the Frankish ambassador Caribertus offered as a gift in the opening scenes of Sardou’s
Theodora
.

Christian and imperial virtues were much celebrated, and imperial propaganda insisted on the throne’s example: Justinian was “the sleepless emperor,” and Theodora was “merciful” and “inexhaustible.” Yet some people pointed to the earthquakes and other natural catastrophes, and the series of difficult wars against too many enemies of the empire, and suggested that the divinity that sanctioned their power, Justinian’s especially, was keeping them at a distance. And worse was in store for the empire and its ruler. In those years, even the most perceptive critics stopped referring to fate generically, and instead ascribed the calamities directly to God’s anger: “The Deity, detesting his [Justinian’s] works, turned away from the Roman empire and gave way to the abominable demons, for the bringing of these things to pass in this fashion.”
³

Whether or not it was truly God’s wrath, in 542 the abominable “things” were not huge and terrible and majestic events evoked by the visionaries or the fiery preachers who chastised the Christians for their sins. In 542, the land was not ripped by great earthquakes or drenched by great tidal waves or wild storms. The punishment that came down from Heaven was infinitely tiny: it looked like “a strange sort of carbuncle.”
⁴
Attentive physicians and scientists found the carbuncles inside those “bubonic-like swellings”
⁵
seen on corpses; and the corpses began piling up in the spring of that year in the cities and the countryside. But the researchers could not identify the cause.

People died everywhere, in every season, with no distinction as to age, sex, diet, or social class. Paradoxically, the people responsible for carrying and burying the corpses were not affected by the contagion, nor were the physicians who came into close contact with the sick. But others who led healthy and secluded lives died quickly. It was left to the survivors to count the victims, to act quickly to dispose of the enormous number of corpses, and describe the phenomena—the course of the illness in an individual, or the development of the sickness from one Mediterranean region to the other, and then beyond. The disease spread all across Europe, and as late as the second half of the seventh century it plagued the British Isles.

The source of the disease was in Egypt, the birthplace of almost everything in antiquity that was destined to spread widely (beliefs in immortality and life after death came from Eygpt; so did wheat, the staple food of the Mediterranean basin.)

The disease had spread from Pelusium, an ancient Egyptian center of temples dedicated to Zeus, a town that was later the cradle of erudite Christian monks. From there, it traveled east-northeast, invading Palestine, Syria, and Anatolia. It first appeared along the coast, in ports and exchange posts, then moved inland. Finally, it reached the capital of the empire.

The sickness was heralded by premonitory dreams that were believed to be supernatural. First the victim had a vision that made him restless; then he experienced a low fever; then carbuncles as big as lentils appeared in several spots. From here the prognosis differed.
Some fell into a deep coma; others suffered delirium, insomnia, or hallucinations. Some leaped from their beds screaming, trying to drink, or to leave the house; some even threw themselves from rooftops or from high cliffs. Some bled. It was the bubonic plague, the most severe epidemic in centuries, and the most lethal for many centuries to come. It was the saddest of the many records set during the time of Justinian and Theodora.